The Refrain Chronicles
by TheDevicer
Summary: Asia's opium trade has long leeched off the down struck, but with the creation of Refrain, the magic dragon may have scored the final victory. Witness the world of Refrain and the lives of those who gaze into her golden eyes.


**The Refrain Chronicles**

_After Britannia's invasion of Japan ended in 2010, the __Kobayashi family quickly abandoned territory, leaving the market for designer drugs__ wide open in Japan. Syndicates, crime families, organized gangs, cartels, and even legal outlets in the Eastern Chinese Federation saw opportunity in the matter. Investments in pharmaceuticals quadrupled in a matter of just a few years inside the communist country. A legal preface allowed importation of mass quantities of unrefined poppy products from the Middle-Eastern Federation without fear of legal repercussion. _

_The eastern board and parts of the Euro Universe were soon flooded with variants of common semi-synthetic pharmaceutical opioids. When the masses craved for a more potent substance, the business felt a natural compulsion to oblige its request. Extensive research underwent in refining opiates, but one psychotropic stood out from among the crowd. An analgesic used to sedate large mammals called 7-PET proved to be remarkably malleable and could be modified in ways previously unknown. Clandestine laboratories continued their work until a major breakthrough during 2015. _

_Without a 3-O-methyl ether bound to its structure, 7-PET gained the ability to bind to __mu, delta, and kappa receptors, displaying overpowering potency. By adding fast-acting methadone to the mixture, the rate at which binding occurred at opiate receptors decreased, making the drug somewhat safer. This addition made the substance ready for sales around the world. _

_However, during its creation, the methadone added to the product brought about an interesting side effect. For an unexplained reason, the drug's new form favored receptors located in the cortex and the hippocampus, both prominent areas of the brain involved in long-term memory. The psychotropic stimulated these areas to such a degree that they produced hallucinogenic visions of the past, often distorted by the user's view of the world. Consequently, the drug was christened Refrain. _

**Prologue**

"_Everything one does in life, even love, occurs in an express train racing toward death. To smoke opium is to get out of the train while it is still moving. It is to concern oneself with something other than life or death."_

- Jean Cocteau, a French artist

**Yangshan deep-water port, Shanghai, Chinese Federation, April 15****th****, 2017 ATB**

Wu Liang paced leisurely towards the dock gates, whistling while he walked. As he approached the gate's guardhouse, a stout man with a graying moustache stepped outside. Liang pretended to fumble through his pockets underneath the reflector vest he wore. Finally, he produced a plastic card from one of the many pockets of his jacket, a well made counterfeit.

It identified him as Li Wei, a crane operator stationed along the Yangtze River. He lifted the cap of his hardhat, handed the ID to the guard, and greeted him. The guard handed the slip back to him and returned Liang's hail in casual Wu Chinese. He signaled to his colleague still inside. A loud buzz ensued and bolts securing the iron linked doors slid open.

Liang waded through without hurry. He headed across a well-lit plain of concrete, crossing wide, clearly marked transport lanes. Skyscrapers of shipping containers rose before him. The multicolored towers created narrow driveways navigable only by small vehicles and pedestrians. Overhead, a colossal dock crane mounted on four legs inched by on rails. The red and white beast hauled block after block, loading and unloading; a seemingly Sisyphean task that none the less ensured the prosperity of the region.

After some time, Liang reached a wider lane, a road used by trucks to transport goods from all corners of the nation to different parts of the dock. The containers soon fell behind him, stretching along the river for as long as the eye could see. Liang walked northward. Occasional workers, looking bored in very much the same way as he did, walked past him. In a few minutes, a whistle would blow, signaling the end of just another shift for a few hundred men. The graveyard shift would bring about more of the same, that is, unless you knew where to look.

Liang turned to his left, away from the river, once he reached a row of hangar-like warehouses owned and operated by _China Star Shipping. _He paced along, never straying from the sides of the roads. When he finally stopped, he slipped between warehouses fourteen and fifteen. He estimated each of the storage houses to be roughly one hundred by two hundred meters.

The space between the two was far from generous and offered no lighting, but held enough room to be navigable with a car. Liang crept along, dropping his reflector vest and hardhat behind a forklift. After what seemed to him like sixty or seventy meters, he ran into a dead end. To his left and right were the only lights in the alley. They shone over two doors, both of which lead to the back corners of their respective warehouses.

Liang drew out a small, carbon-black, manual camera and a professional lens capable of substantial levels of magnification. He fitted the two together, twisted, and adjusted his focus to roughly 20 meters. He had always preferred the feel of manual control, the hours in the darkroom, and the quality and satisfaction brought on by the final product.

The Chinaman eyed the two doors. They were outfitted with electric, multi point, cylinder protected locks; oddly expensive choices for dock warehouses. Liang grinned. No matter how advanced the lock, it hardly mattered to someone with the key. He pulled out the ID card, walked to the door of warehouse 14 and slid the card into a magnetic strip reader. A familiar buzz came from the door as the electrical system permitted him entry. Liang opened the door to a crack and pulled the door back as quietly as he could.

As he entered the hangar, saw the two gigantic entrances that lay on each side of the building. Each one roughly the same distance away from him. The only source of light Liang could make out came from behind a tall stack of wooden shipping crates. It seemed to originate from somewhere on the ground near the very center of the warehouse, but the roof reflected enough of it to make moving around possible. The air tasted moldy and of old, soggy wood.

Liang stood quietly, waiting and listening. He made out voices. They were speaking Chinese. That much he could make out from by the door, but he'd need to get closer. It was time to improvise. He ran a quick check on his surroundings. To his left, he spotted a ladder that ran all the way to the ceiling. From there, a walkway crept along the roof until it reached a catwalk that ran the entire length of the warehouse.

Liang thought about how to proceed. He ran a bigger risk of running into someone if he stuck to the ground. Also, he probably could take much better shots from the catwalk. On the other hand, he might be easier to spot and virtually cut off his escape routes if anything were to go wrong.

Liang flung his camera around his neck and tucked it inside his jacket to keep it from swaying around, possibly hitting the ladder by accident. Flattening himself against the steel wall, Liang squirmed upwards, moving as silently as he could. The wooden freight boxes were piled up about two stories high. He'd lost the voices below once he rose halfway up the wall. He was almost level with the boxes now.

Once at the top, Liang hunched and crawled without sound. The welded steel mesh wiring bit into his knees. As he kept advancing towards the center of the warehouse, the scene below unveiled itself. The men's voices returned to him. Once he reached the catwalk, he laid down flat, craned himself over the side, and prepared to document the scene below.

The light came from four industrial construction pods placed in the corners of a break in two rows. This formed an odd clearing, a ten square meter are occupied by three men in dark suits and five others dressed as dock workers. The dock rats spoke rough, crude Shanghainese, a dialect of Wu – locals. The suits, on the other hand, spoke little, and when they did, they spoke only in Mandarin – out-of-towners, maybe even foreigners. As to what they spoke of, Liang could not make out much – he didn't need to.

All the men were armed and not even trying to hide it. Liang counted two semi-automatics, three submachine guns, and even a knock-off of a Britannic assault rifle. They were gathered around a wooden crate filled with hay and small white boxes. Three of them were opened. Inside were dark brown vials of Refrain, hypodermic needles, and mechanical syringes, the luxury of the premiere clientele.

The transaction seemed fairly ordinary. There were no sales being arranged here. A simple drop-off – that's all there was to it. Regardless, it was still a unique view at the fangs of the oriental dragon. Liang held his breath. He photographed the product and the middlemen, taking multiple shots at each of the men's faces, tattoos, scars, and the motorized weaponry. He wondered just how many of the crates below him had the same content as the opened one lying under beams of high-powered fluorescent light.

The meeting below was wrapping up. Liang finished the roll but didn't dare move. The safest course of action would be to wait for the men to clear out and then get down. With the lights on, any movement could attract they eye. He might have been thirty meters above them, but Liang was far too aware of how visible he was from the ground to do attempt anything foolhardy.

The workers put the lid back on the box, nailed it shut, and radioed out. The suits watched. Liang lay as still as he could, waiting, watching. Minutes crept by. Some words were exchanged. Liang tried to make them up again, but did not catch enough to form any kind of understanding of the events below. The men were obviously waiting for something.

The warehouse flickered to life. The bulbs on the ceiling began to glow and illuminate the rows of boxes laid out below. Moments passed and a large clang came from the eastside hangar door. Large roller chains, driven by electric motors, cranked into action. The steel parted, revealing a bulky, domed, hazard-yellow frame fitted atop unwieldy stubs of legs, a civil sector TQ-19 Gun-Ru here to move the manufactured goods.

This Gun-Ru was outfitted with short extremities equipped with three pincers forming a primitive claw. Most dock models function as forklifts. After an upgrade to the arms of the frame featuring hinged bars mounted on the underarms, the frame was capable of hauling impressive loads. By design, it was simplistic, coarse, and jagged, but the Gun-Ru was cheap. The Chinese Federation made them in the millions.

Liang's heart leaped. Some military models feature 30mm Autocannons partially embedded in the cockpit's hatch. This model, however, boasted two uncovered factspheres, advanced camera systems relaying live thermographic images and data to the pilot to ease navigation.

A high frequency sound bounded from the knightmare, sending waves bouncing thought the warehouse. The frame halted.

"There's someone up there!" The Gun-Ru's communication system bawled. Liang jumped up. The men below raised their eyes. One of them, a scrawny man chewing nicotine gum, caught a glimpse of Liang's camera.

"Gun! He's got a gun!" He shouted. One of the suits wielding a double-acceleration submachine gun aimed and squeezed the trigger by impulse.

Bullets tore through Liang's body. The first entered his back, piercing a kidney on its way. Others made their way up through his sides and back until the crown of his head tore open. Liang's body flopped against the railing, stayed there suspended for a moment, and the fell to the ground below. The fall shattered the left side of his skull. What remained of Liang was merely connective tissues and shattered bones. Blood rained down from the catwalk, painting the scene red with a tranquil mist. The smell of oxidized sakuradite hung in the air.

Liang lay still, head crowned by a red aura.

**So there was the revised version of the prologue as promised. Hope you enjoyed. I write for reviews so be sure to leave a comment. On the subject of research and accuracy, I try to do my best but I'm no Juubi-K (God bless his soul). Leave a comment if you catch something.**

**Special thanks go to The Triumvirate of Rei, Juubi-K, Zara, and randomthing34 for their ausum sauce support whether they're aware of it or not. The first chapter is under way. I'm aiming for a release on February 18, 2011 so be sure to check it out.**

**BTW, fastest and surest way to get in touch with me is by YouTube (TheDevicer)! **


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